Half an hour later, I stumbled away from Tristan’s body and into Asher’s warm embrace.

My legs had been reduced to jelly, and my magical reserves drained so low they might never recover. I could only imagine how much blood and rest it would take before they were back to normal again.

Asher’s voice washed over my shoulders, his breath fluttering against my cheek, but the blood roaring in my ears kept me from hearing.

I’d poured everything into Tristan—everything.

Holly and Giovanni remained rooted in place, searching for any sign of life whether it be a heartbeat or an influx of breath. The inky strands of my half-sister’s hair cascaded down Tristan’s shoulder, hanging off the side of the table he’d been placed onto.

With her ear placed against his chest, she waited and waited.

I understood her worry. Really, I did. Her mother had to sacrifice ten witches just to lock my father’s soul into my body. While I didn’t have ten innocent people to slaughter, I did have something else on my si